The Gift - Or the Importance of Homophones
by Kunzle Showboat
Summary: Tim receives a present which brings back memories.


Agent Timothy McGee was sitting tiredly at his desk in the MCRT squad room. As usual, he had been the first to arrive that morning and the last to leave the previous evening.

"Package for you," announced Bob from the mail room.

"What?" asked Tim.

"Package. Just arrived. Don't worry it's been through the scanner and the decontaminator. And Tracey shook it as well," said Bob.

Tim understood the importance of the scanner and the decontaminator: ever since Tony DiNozzo's plague filled envelope procedures had been tightened up. "Why did Tracey shake it?" he asked in puzzlement.

Bob shrugged, a shrug which summed up his still unsuccessful attempt to understand the working of his co-worker's mind. "She gets excited when parcels turn up. Likes to try and guess what's inside. Don't be surprised if she turns up later to find out if she guessed right."

Tim nodded. As Bob departed to continue his rounds, Tim found himself emulating Tracey and shaking the small package. There wasn't much of a rattle, suggesting that the contents were securely padded. Tim continued to stare at the parcel and then realised that he had an option not available to Tracey – he opened it. Pulling aside the bubble wrap, Tim extracted a small metal object and smiled reminiscently when he saw what it was.

PREVIOUSLY

"Anyone ever tell you're a bore?" asked Tim.

Tony broke off his discussion/discourse about Stanley Kubrick movies and said with less rancour than might have been expected, "What type of bore?" he asked.

"What do you mean, 'what type of bore'?" asked Tim.

"There's all sorts of bore. It's a very homophonic word," said Tony.

"I wasn't accusing you of being gay," protested Tim.

"Didn't think you were, McTolerant. And to be truthful, I'm not sure _homophonic_ is a word," said Tony.

"Then why did you say it?"

"That's how new words are formed. People using new combinations. It's pioneering, leading the way," said Tony seriously.

"How did we get here?" asked Tim.

"A profound question, McPhilosopher. The simple answer is that we got here in a NCIS sedan but, of course, the origins go further back. Who was responsible for the invention of the automobile? Who was the person who drilled the gas which fuelled the car? Who …"

"I didn't mean here, here," said Tim.

"Hear hear," murmured Tony.

Tim ignored this comment. "We're _here_ because Gibbs told us to investigate Marquason's old farm to see if we could find any clues about what he's up to," he began.

Tim sometimes thought it was impossible for Tony to keep quiet for more than three seconds and he was proved right again, "And it turned out that someone … perhaps not Marquason, we should keep an open mind … was here. Unbeknownst to us …"

"And locked us in the root cellar," completed Tim.

"So, if you know how we got here, why did you ask how we got here?" asked Tony.

"I didn't mean how we got here …"

"Good. Because I began to wonder if you had a concussion," said Tony solicitously.

Tim took a grip on his temper, "I meant why did you start talking about homophonic words? And I think that is a word, by the way. You haven't scaled new heights of the American dictionary."

Tony was philosophical, "Oh well, the search for glory goes on."

"So?" asked Tim.

"So what?"

"So why did you start talking about homophonic words?"

"Because you called me a bore," said Tony.

"Can't think why," muttered Tim.

"And I wanted to know what sort of bore. 'Bore' is a word which can have many meanings and spellings. I was striving for accuracy," said Tony.

"What sort of bore did you think I was calling you?" asked Tim.

Tony seemed to consider this. "I don't know. I thought I was engaging in an interesting, nay _erudite_ , discussion about the marvels of Stanley Kubrick movies. Admittedly, it was beginning to feel more like a monologue but I thought that was because you were in awe of my knowledge and didn't want to interrupt my masterly flow."

"Not so much," said Tim.

"I was trying to keep your mind off the perilous situation in which we find ourselves," said Tony pompously.

"Perilous situation?" asked Tim sceptically.

"Yes. I thought that you might be calculating how much longer our air supply would last," said Tony earnestly.

"Root cellars have ventilation. Or at least, this one does." said Tim.

"Oh. So you weren't worried that we were about to suffocate?" said Tony.

"If I had been, I'd have shot you."

"Why?"

"To stop you talking and using up oxygen."

"McHeartless!" said Tony.

Tim shrugged.

"We're still locked in a root cellar. Who knows what dangers we are facing?" continued Tony in a doom-laden voice.

"Tony, we called Gibbs. He's on his way. We'll be fine," said Tim.

"So what type of bore were you calling me?" asked Tony.

"Can't you guess?" said Tim.

"I refuse to believe that my instructive oration on a movie legend was less than gripping to you. So I have to assume that you were, mistakenly, calling me some other type of bore," said Tony.

"Like what?" asked Tim, finding himself being drawn in despite himself.

"Well, you could have been referring to me a B-O-A-R."

"A pig. Well, that's a possibility," said Tim.

"And why is that a possibility?" asked Tony loftily.

"I've seen you eat, Tony," said Tim. Even those who loved Tony DiNozzo would have to acknowledge that he was possessive about food. And not just his own food. He seemed to regard any food within a thirty-yard radius as fair game and a full plate as a personal challenge. He was welcome at all parties and gatherings, not for his witty conversation (or monologues about Stanley Kubrick movies) but for his ability to eat up all the leftovers. His capacity for eating, and the speed at which he ate, made Tony a legend at NCIS. Tony was, usually, a cheerful and upbeat person but the occasions when he decided to go on a diet made him miserable and brought gloom to everyone on the team. Tim thought that 'boar' might have been a good description of his co-worker.

"I don't recognise that description of me," said Tony firmly.

"OK, so what other type of 'bore' might you be?" asked Tim.

"B-O-O-R, boor. An awkward or rude person," said Tony with a hint of reluctance.

Tim thought it remarkable that so many of the _bore_ homophones could describe Tony. Tony was bumptious, cocky and borderline belligerent nearly every day. Tim thought that _boor_ might be the more fitting noun for Tony than _bore_ and was about to say so when he remembered other aspects of Tony. He was unfailingly courteous and considerate to older people; he was capable of compassion and empathy with the victims they met each day. Perhaps, his belligerence was reserved more for suspects than victims? But then Tim thought of the hazing he had had from Tony and began to change his mind again but, almost unbidden, came the memory of Tony turning up the night Tim had shot the undercover policeman. Tony had tried, in his unique way, to make Tim feel better and Tim had been grateful that someone had cared enough to do that.

And then Tim remembered Thanksgiving meals at Ducky's house. Ducky had laid the table with all his best silverware and glasses. Tim had been bewildered at the number of knives and forks and different glasses for different drinks. Tony had been unfazed. He had known which knife and fork to use, which glass to put water in, which glass should be used for dinner wine and which for dessert wine and, in deference to Ducky's exacting standards, had eaten neatly and politely and resisted the temptation to eat was left on his companions' plates.

"No, I don't think B-O-O-R is right," said Tim.

"Thank you, McPerspicacious," said Tony.

"So, what other type of bore could you be?" asked Tim.

"B-O-R-E."

"Hah! You admit it," said Tim.

"No. It's a tidal flood of great violence," said Tony.

Tim was silent once more and once more was in awe of the aptness of bore for Tony. Tony was, without doubt, a force of nature and likely to overwhelm the people around him. He had an energy and power unlike any Tim had encountered before. "That's a possibility," he agreed.

"But it wasn't what you meant, was it? That wasn't the type of bore you were talking about?" asked Tony.

"No," said Tim.

"You _really_ thought Stanley Kubrick was boring?" said Tony.

"No. I don't think Stanley Kubrick is boring," said Tim. "But …"

"But what?"

"Well, you did go on about him for a long time, Tony."

"There's a lot to say about him," said Tony.

"And you said it," said Tim firmly.

"But …"

"At length," said Tim with even greater firmness.

"Oh. So you really didn't find it even a little bit interesting?"

"Well," said Tim.

"Because I was just getting to the interesting bit …"

Tim groaned.

"The bit about the digital remastering of some of his early works. Apparently they had to use this new computer software …"

"I've heard of that. It was ground-breaking," said Tim excitedly.

TODAY

Now, as Tim fingered the piece of metal, he remembered that Tony hadn't got a word in edgewise after that. Tim had waxed as lyrical about computer programmes as Tony had about Stanley Kubrick. It had seemed no time at all before the cavalry, in the form of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, had arrived. Tim realised Tony had given him no opportunity to worry about what might happen to them. He patted the snout of the bronze boar affectionately.

Gibbs arrived at that moment and saw the little statue.

"What you got, McGee?" he asked.

For answer, Tim held it up.

Gibbs looked at it thoughtfully. "A pig. Reminds me of something. Can't think what." He shook his head and carried on to his desk.

McGee smiled as he looked at the little boar. The Boss was right – of course. The little creature sat on its haunches, its head was cocked inquisitively to one side and there was something of a grin on its face. It was a DiNozzo boar/bore/boor.

Tim looked at the note which accompanied the parcel,

 _Hey, McSeniorFieldAgent, McGibbsrighthandman: saw this and thought of me … and then I thought of you. Watch out for those homophones! Miss you!_

 _Tony._

"Miss you too, Tony," whispered Tim. He put Tiny Tony Boar/Bore/Boor next to his keyboard and got down to work.

* * *

 _The characters don't belong to me._


End file.
